Of Her Own Making
by Duplicitous Introduction
Summary: It shouldn't surprise her anymore when life throws her a curveball. Connie/Sam.


Just a rambling one shot. A lot of references are to Connie and her Holby City days, so apologies in advance if some of it doesn't make much sense.

* * *

It shouldn't surprise her anymore when life throws her a curveball.

God knows she's experienced enough to know it never goes according to her carefully thought out plan anyway. Michael, for example, turning out to be an utter waste of time. Losing her position as Medical Director. Losing her position as Clinical Lead. Losing her position as Director of Surgery. Losing her position as Lead Consultant. Grace's premature arrival. Her father's illness. Gina Hope. Alfred Maxwell. Walking away from the hospital that she had poured her life and soul into for six years. Walking back into it four years later. Grace nearly dying in the car crash. Grace nearly dying in the helicopter.

What irritates her however, is how large a part she often plays in her own demise.

Fate has handed her more than a few knocks, but she's perfectly capable of kicking herself down. She will never forget her father's voice when she came home from school one afternoon, eyes puffy from crying and her cheek nursing a glowing red handprint courtesy of Pamela Ritchie. As if Peter Holland parading her knickers around the school wasn't humiliating enough, his current piece had decided to give her a smack round the face for good measure. Not that she was getting any sympathy for it.

"You've made your bed Connie. Now lie in it."

He was quite right. What on earth had possessed her fifteen year old self to sleep with Peter she had no idea. The same could be said for Michael, and she went one step further with him and married the idiot. John Grayson was also a fairly spectacular choice what with him being her CEO's husband, and her handling of the whole Jacob situation was hardly commendable either. And that's just her love life. She could write a novel on her questionable choices, the size of which could rival anything Tolstoy has produced. But, all this aside, even she can admit that sleeping with Sam Strachan in a hospital store cupboard is a headbanger to rival all headbangers.

Connie likes to tell herself that she merely tolerates Sam, for Grace's sake if nothing else. The years he spent being a long distance daddy allowed her to do so without feeling too inconvenienced. However, his presence in her life at the moment is so prominent that she is finding herself having to actively co-operate with him. He holds more power than her now, given that Grace won't even stay in the same room as her for more than 10 minutes. She can't swat him away anymore when she tires of him.

Their relationship has always been hostile and, on the rare occasion that she's feeling reflective, she does acknowledge a twinge of guilt at bringing Grace into a world where her mother and father are so unable to get on. The situation was entirely Connie's own making after all. Sam had no idea what she had planned when they began sleeping together all those years ago. They had hardly been particularly harmonious beforehand, so it was inevitable that neither would be able to 'co-parent' productively. Even more so given her stance that he was to have nothing to do with Grace from the word go. Despite his frustrating immaturity at the time, she can begrudgingly admit he had presented more common sense than she, given that he had shown more inclination towards stopping it all anyway.

He had clearly been intrigued by his boss, but also entirely aware she was too much for him to handle. He had maintained the entire time the two of them should call things off so as to avoid any 'compromise' but she continued to reel him back in, probably for longer than she should have. It's no lie that she used him to fall pregnant, but what she would never admit was that, after a year of lonely evenings and then her jailbird husband walking out on her yet again, having even the reluctant attention of a 30 something attractive younger man was really rather nice.

Fast forward 12 years and he's far more sure of himself. He knows he's a match for her now. So does she, although she'll never admit that to him. He can pick up any barbed remark she throws in his direction and fire it straight back with twice the vigour. He's authoritative in ways she's not had to handle in years. He has a stronger relationship with Grace, damn him, and he seems able to find a balance between parenting and work far better than she ever could. He's still arrogant, disobedient and a know-it-all, except now he has the balls to back it up.

It's been a bastard of a day. Her nightshift extended an extra four hours due to a nasty collision between an Audi A4 and three very drunk teenagers. She's also spent the best part of the afternoon sitting in Mrs Bryson's office within Holby Grammar, discussing Grace's progress and next steps. The school are concerned as to how much work she has missed, but Connie is in no doubt Grace will cope just fine. She is Connie Beauchamp's daughter after all. She was practically streets ahead of her class anyway, so it was only fair the others were given a chance to catch up. Unfortunately however her views were not shared by Mrs Bryson, who had merely raised an eyebrow and slid a list of contact details for recommended tutors in Connie's direction. Sam, ever the arbitrator, had thanked the headmistress for her time and led Connie from the office, his hand pushing firmly on the small of her back imploring her not to start an argument. She made a mental note to keep him on minors for the rest of the month.

* * *

It is later, and the street lights lie against the windows of her bedroom. It's been a bastard of a day, but it's finally over and she's feeling surprisingly settled between the sheets of her Vispring double. In a moment of post coital calm, she remembers what Elliot told her all those years ago. _You'll wake up one day and she'll be eighteen. And you'll have missed it. The best years. The magic years. And she'll want to know where you were. What will you tell her?_ He had been spot on, of course. As always. She has no explanation for Grace and she has no idea how to begin piecing everything back together. How do you go about rebuilding a relationship with a child when it's questionable whether there was ever really much of a relationship in the first place?

He shifts slightly in the bed beside her, breaking her thoughts. Fleetingly, and reluctantly, she feels a small sense of gratitude that Sam came back. Her glaring failures as a parent are countered somewhat by his presence, despite it irritating her so. He keeps Grace steady in ways she has not yet learned how to do and she is relieved for both her daughter and herself. In the midst of their fall, he's been the bit in between that has softened the blow.

She sighs and turns to face him. He lazily opens one eye and studies her for a moment, his face gently illuminated from the light outside, before closing it again and resuming his sleep.

"This can't keep happening Sam."

He looks as convinced about that as she does. He doesn't even open his eyes, but a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. Infuriating egotistical arrogance, she thinks. She's probably played a part in creating that in him as well. _You're a good surgeon, but it's my job to make you a great one._ He slides a hand across her stomach and gently pulls her naked body towards his, tucking his head into the side of her neck in a show of faux submission. She smiles in spite of herself.

You've made your bed Connie. Yes she has, and even though it's as messy as ever, it's looking a little more bearable with him in it.


End file.
